The Hitchhiker Molologues
by Zarquon'sGhost
Summary: Alternating between monologues of your favorite characters and guide entries in much the same way that direct current electricity does not.
1. Marvins Monologue

_Disclaimer: I am nothing more than a devoted fan having fun; playing with my digital watch, moving little pieces of green paper around to amuse myself… and writing. Writing is good too. That said, I am in no way, shape or form connected with Douglas Adams, due, in part, to the fact that he is dead. I'm not getting any money from this, though Belgium! that would be great too!_

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Ladies and Gentlemen…

And assorted super-intelligent shades of various colors…

I would like to present to you, from the bowels of Life, the Universe, and Everything…

**Marvin's Monologue**

"Life! …Don't talk to me about life! Here I am, brain the size of a planet…probably makes my head look atrociously large…and they leave me for millions of years at a time to go searching for some depressing question.. The neglect I can take, but the time…Oh! The unending time in which to calculate to the nearest forty-two thousand decimals the exact number of degrees by which that wall over there is not perpendicular or the ambient temperature of the nearest 300 planets over and over again! It's enough to really get you down.

No, maybe it's the neglect too. Not that I blame them for leaving…I probably only depress them. I get depressed myself to think that they completely forgot me on this wretched little grey planet to search for the question to the ultimate answer. Honestly, does it matter what the question is? If the answer is forty-two, then I don't see how knowing the question to the answer can make life any less depressing. Though I wouldn't be surprised if it does. Things can always, _always get worse_.

Forty-two! Yes, that certainly _sounds_ depressing enough to explain everything, but who can really know for sure? Even if someone did find out the question, they probably wouldn't like it. I probably wouldn't like it either. I've never liked anything as far as I can remember (which is an exceptionally long time)…except maybe being depressed. I quite enjoy that…at least I think I must, for I do it quite often. No, in all likelihood, I probably hate that as well and just can't come to terms with it. God I hate denial…it really depresses me.

Where was I? My electronic neurons aren't what they once were. I blame the years of neglect. And the horrible pain I have shooting up and down the diodes of my left leg. Oh, yes…I was thinking about the question to the answer. It'll be depressing, I just know it. No one will like it. It's certain to violate the rigidly-defined areas of doubt and uncertainty. It'll probably offend a lot of people too. There's always someone who gets offended. If only everyone knew God's final message to his creation the maybe people would feel more at ease with life in general. It certainly accounts for a lot as far as I am concerned. I'm not sure how I feel about it though. I think I feel depressed, mainly. '_We apologize for the inconvenience..._' Inconvenience! Life's an inconvenience. But still... Perhaps another visit would help clear up the uncertainty…then again, perhaps not. It depresses me to think too much about that right not. I think I'll try to think of something less depressing…

…Well that didn't go well at all. God I feel really depressed now."

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_Well this is really my first real attempt, so be nice, but please do review. I'm thinking of doing other monologues with other characters. What do you think?_


	2. An Excerpt from THE GUIDE

_Disclaimer: I am nothing more than a devoted fan having fun; playing with my digital watch, moving little pieces of green paper around to amuse myself… and writing. Writing is good too. That said, I am in no way, shape or form connected with Douglas Adams, due, in part, to the fact that he is dead. I'm not getting any money from this, though Belgium! that would be great too!_

Ladies and Gentlemen...

Today's addition of _The Hitchhiker Monologues_ is a guide entry...enjoy!

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**Movies**

_The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ has this to say about movies: Movies used to be good. Really good. In fact, they used to be so good that, shockingly, for a while, creative-development people actually had the authority to tell the money-management people to go and sit under the backside of a gastronomically-challenged elephant if the money-management people interfered in the creative-development peoples' job of creatively developing a movie. This was, of course, when movies exceeded money-making expectations (due mainly to the authority that the creative-development people had over the money-management people) and studio heads told accountants to stuff it and actually trusted the creative vision of the creative people rather than the creative vision of a 40-year-old, obese, socially challenged accountant who worries only about his retirement pension. Now, of course, things are different.

In a time when creative ideas are running dry, in a time when the creative people deserve to have the most power, it is the accountants who run the show. Due to increased need for "fiscal conservatism" within major movie studios, the movie making process now goes somewhat like this: The creative people come up with a great new idea, ask the accountants for money and the accountants say no. The accountants then try to appease the creative people by taking the worst bits of their ideas, pitching them to the studio heads as attempting to reach a broader demographic, and in short, tell the creative people to sit under the backside of a gastronomically-challenged elephant. This angers the creative people, but from their position under the backside of the above mentioned gastronomically-challenged elephant, there is little that they can do about it.

The irony, of course, in all this is that the whole reason for the need for "fiscal conservatism" is that the accountants in charge are making bad movies, causing fewer people to actually see them. It is an odd, but strangely true fact that fewer people will actually willingly pay nine dollars to see a bad movie than a good movie. The accountants staunchly strike this up to creative-people propaganda and continue to make really bad movies. They really are, in fact, astoundingly bad. This is due to the lack of creative-development that currently takes place in the movie industry. It's a vicious cycle; the accountants make really bad movies which don't make money, forcing the studio heads to give the accountants even more power to stop this sort of thing from happening again. The creative people shake their heads in despair, but again, from their position under the backside of a gastronomically-challenged elephant, they are more-or-less powerless, if not extremely mucky by now. The studio heads, on the other hand, remain patiently clueless, and serenely oblivious to the real solution, which is to put the creative people back in charge. Some of the galaxy's finest minds have suggest that this could be the most dramatic case of completely oblivious idiocy in history…but the accountants beg to differ, pointing out that everyone's pension plans are, for the moment, in good hands.


	3. Monologue of a Golgafrinchan Captain

_Disclaimer: I am nothing more than a devoted fan having fun; playing with my digital watch, moving little pieces of green paper around to amuse myself… and writing. Writing is good too. That said, I am in no way, shape or form connected with Douglas Adams, due in part to the fact that he is dead. I'm not getting any money from this, though, Belgium, that would be great too!_

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Assembled (insert heritage here)-(insert country of current citizenship here)s…

The Maxi-Magalon Institute for Slowly and Painfully Working Out the Surprisingly Obvious is proud to sponsor this addition of The Hitchhiker Monologues. Which is…

**Monologue of a Golgafrinchan Captain**

**OR**

**How a Rubber Duck Went "BLHAT"**

It was shortly after that report thingy from Number Two when it happened. Frightfully keyed-up person, Number Two, shifty eyes, and all. He always seems to enjoy shouting and bringing bad news about this whole nasty business about transporting…what was it?...telephone sanitation engineers, I think. Yes, that was it. I don't know, it's quite depressing sometimes. We never seem to hear tell of any of the other two "Ark" ships. Sometimes it almost seems as if…but anyway, I'm getting sidetracked, aren't I? Sorry about that, only it gets quite boring when you've only yourself to talk to, at least half of the time it is…about half, I'd say.

Anyway, it was after that report thingy from Number Two when it happened. It was frightfully exciting, and all that, but on the whole, quite overrated. I really don't see why it was necessary to 'crash', per se, on the planet. All the carnage and loss of life and all that…quite dreadful, of course, but on the whole, quite overrated. There are times when it seems…but no, it couldn't be…no I think I'd much rather sit and enjoy my nice, warm bath now than think of what it seems like sometimes.

But…that's…the other thing. You see my baths just haven't been the same since the crash. Of course there's no more hot water or soap, but everyone more-or-less expected those to run out eventually. No, the really quite disturbing thing about my baths now is their rather distinctive lack of rubber ducky. I know it may seem trivial, but as I said, it gets rather boring half the time when you've only yourself to talk to. It's quite sad, really, because my rubber ducky sort of…died in the crash. I don't suppose you'd want to know the details, it's really quite messy, in fact. Poor Number One will probably be scarred for life. Nice chap, Number One. He offered to commission a new, more yellow rubber ducky for me as soon as possible when the "A" and "B" arks arrive. I suspect I shall simply have to try to patch the old one up for the time being until that happens. Or I suppose I could borrow Number Two's if he'd let me… Anyway, it really was quite a heart-stoppingly horrible event for me, as it was partially my fault that it…erm…well died in the first place.

You see, I thought that, well, if I could protect the rubber water fowl during the crash it might prevent undue wear and tear on the rubber. If only the scientists or engineers from the "A" or "B" arks had been here they would have warned me not to, but I thought that if I sat on it, it might be protected under my derriere from any unnecessary jolts. Unfortunately, I must have gained a few pounds sitting in this bath all the time for these past few years, because I do weight quite a lot. You see, there was a rather nasty jolt just as I was sitting on it and…well…it died…quite tragically, really.

It did make a spectacular 'BLHAT' though…

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_And up next..._

_We'll hear from the man who rules The Universe. _


	4. Another Entry from THE GUIDE

_Disclaimer: Reading too many disclaimers may cause brain tumors._

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The following is some background information on the Ruler of the Universe.

_The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ has this to say about the Ruler of the Universe:

**The Ruler of the Universe**

According to the Quarkin peoples of Bedulon Three, the ruler of the universe is, in fact, a large bowl of vanilla pudding named "sqwud" which issues directives via a large, plastic spoon sticking into the pudding. It is their belief that the spoon becomes warmer to the touch to indicate an affirmative answer, and becomes cooler to the touch to indicate a negative answer. The Quarkin peoples of Bedulon Three are, of course, completely wrong, but no one has the heart to tell them so, due to the fact that the Quarkin peoples of Bedulon Three are a genetically enhanced race of fluffy pink bunny rabbits. The general attitude of the surrounding culture is, "Hey! They're fluffy pink bunnies. Let them have their little beliefs and be on with it." (It should be noted that the surround cultures also have an inherent phobia of fluffy, pink bunnies, particularly if they are genetically enhanced. Therefore, this may impact their decision NOT to enlighten the Quarkin peoples of Bedulon Three.)

The _real_ ruler of the universe (according to a certain band of _Homo sapiens_) is in fact a popular author named J.K. Rowling. Again, these people are completely, utterly, and hopelessly wrong, though it is an intriguing theory. Despite many nasty lingering rumors, the President of the Galaxy has absolute and complete control over nothing in particular. This strikes many people as a very good thing, as the people who generally end up getting elected to office aren't really the sort of people who you'd want pulling the strings behind the cosmos. The person who actually makes the important decisions about the universe (such has what color evening dress looks best in the flattering, but slightly florid light of a small, gaseous planet located in the Horse head Nebula) is a lonely, unassuming man who lives in a small shack on a very rainy planet in the middle of the galaxy with his cat named "Lord".

This individual is one of the most dim-witted, unassuming, and all-around generally moronic people any sane person is likely (or unlikely, since he prefers his privacy) to meet. In fact, upon spending thirty seconds in the same room as him, many return to their devastatingly expensive spaceships with an even greater sense that there simply must be a higher power at work. Several research teams from the _Maxi-Magalon Institute for Wastefully Trying to Work Out Things That No One In Particular Cares About_ sent to research the root of the ruler's power have determined that the ruler of the universe may, in fact, be receiving directives from his cat, "Lord". "Lord" categorically denies any accusations of omnipotence and assures everyone that he is a completely normal house cat. Several prominent theorists proclaim these statements to be "extremely sinister in nature"; stating that rarely in history has a feline been able verbally assert that it is a completely normal house cat. It's simply not something that completely normal house cats do. This only strengthens the case of those who believe that the universe is, in fact, being diabolically manipulated by a small cat for its own dastardly ends. Unfortunately, the fluffy, pink, genetically enhanced bunny rabbits of Bedulon Three will have to proceed valiantly through life without knowledge of any of this. Citing that their fluffiness, pinkness, genetically enhancedness, and bunny rabbitness with not be affected in any way by their ignorance, many philosophers argue that if everyone proceeds valiantly through life without knowledge of any of this, society as a whole might have many more parties to go to. Bitterly, the philosophers recall that they don't get invited to those sort of parties (or indeed any parties at all) and sourly return to their existentialist blabbering.

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_Now that you know a little more about the Ruler of the Universe, you're ready to hear what he has to say first hand. Please review, and may Lord's will be done._


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